Last Time

I always assumed it would be raining when I next saw you
A song from The Notebook blasting in the background
You'd make a claim of daily tear-stained letters
Put in a bottle and thrown in the sea
With the hope that they'd end up at my feet in the middle of L.A.

I was young.

When I actually saw you again,
The street was dark, no boom box on your shoulder.
Only an awkward side-hug
and a stomach that still crackled
At the sight of the brown curl
Flipping just over the tip of your ear.

You are my familiar
A sweater that does not quite fit
But remains hung in the corner
With quiet hope of returning to retail perfection

Your hands pulled my knee
Into a bicep choke hold
Just as you used to
My hands snuck up,
picking imaginary lint off your shirt sleeve

I don't quite remember the sex
Only the desperation
Of two single people
Who once thought they loved each other.

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